


a dream, six feet down

by lacquer



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Complicated Relationships, Dream Sex, Dream Sharing, Hate Sex, M/M, Presumed Dead, angst with limited comfort, brief asphyxiation/choking, sorry these tags sound super bleak??, superhero/supervillain - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27038671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacquer/pseuds/lacquer
Summary: The truth is, Seungcheol is not well matched to fight a villain like Reverie, whose powers are nightmarish in the most literal sense. Without backup, he is less than useless. But he went anyway.That’s the hardest part to explain. But there’s a dream—
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 18
Kudos: 92





	a dream, six feet down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [infrequency](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infrequency/gifts).



> a very belated happy birthday to carina! I started this quite a while ago, and I'm proud that I got it out, considering the circumstances, even if it took longer than expected. 
> 
> I don't know a whole lot about established superhero canons, so this is something more freeform. 
> 
> let me know if there are any other content warnings that you feel I should add, and I'll do so!

_but nightdreams call me a liar, show only your face. my blood tides to the timbre of your voice and nothing else._  
\- Kemi Alabi, "the oldest song"

There is a moment, right before Seungcheol hits the brick wall, where he thinks _maybe it won’t hurt so much this time._ Hope is a candle flame in high wind. Flicker. Flicker. 

_Bang._

Seungcheol eats fifty pounds of brick and mortar as the wall crumples around him, sirens loud in the air. Pain is immediate and red-sharp. Through the haze of dust he can see Reverie gesturing towards his sidekick, the safe deposit box they had come for dangling from one fist. He doesn’t even look back at Seungcheol, despite having thrown him into—and through—a wall. 

“No you don’t,” Seungcheol chokes out, struggling to get out from underneath a chunk of stone the size of a motorcycle. “Stop!”

Reverie hesitates. They lock eyes across the room. Seungcheol can see emotion there, flickering like light seen through water. For a moment, he thinks something might happen.

But then he turns away, taking his sidekick’s hand. They fade as though a dream.

Gone.

There’s nothing around him but the groan of the building, the continued wail of an alarm, the tired exhale of his lungs.

In his ear, his comm crackles. “That went well,” Wonwoo says, voice dry as dust. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol wheezes, finally shoving the stone to the side. It’s not convincing, even to his own ears. His lungs feel flattened and his ribs are tender all the way down, bones of a young willow tree. 

“I’m sending medical services,” Wonwoo tells him, which really means he’s told Hansol, the only one of their team with healing powers, to get on the metro. “Sit tight. The police will be there in five.”

"Just what I wanted to hear,” Seungcheol tries to joke, but the words clatter to the floor and lie among the dust, and Wonwoo doesn’t joke along with him. When he stands up, the world swoops for a second. Darkness tunnels. 

“-ps? Seungcheol? Are you there?” Wonwoo’s voice fades back in like a bad radio signal, and Seungcheol resists the urge to shake his head. He hopes he doesn’t have a concussion. 

“Yeah, what was that?” 

Wonwoo breathes out. “The Morning Post’s journalists are going to be there in five too. I hope you’re ready to explain this to the press.”

“I have to be, right?” Seungcheol says. 

“Wait just a moment,” Wonwoo tells him. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Seungcheol looks up towards where he knows Wonwoo is watching. A camera lens winks like a cat’s eye. “Maybe later. I’ve got a job to do.” And with that, he walks forward, and out of the ruined bank.

  
  
  


It takes hours after that for Seungcheol to get any peace. Everyone needs to be debriefed, everyone needs a piece of him. The police, the media, even his own team, all demand his attention. Seungcheol’s focus stretches tight like a drumhead, pulled so thin it echoes.

The story doesn’t get easier to repeat, no matter how many times he says it. 

It goes like this:

They’d gotten a call to the bank, an alert about the robbery in progress. The police had forwarded it to their team and the minute Seungcheol had heard the news, he had taken off. Heart in his throat, adrenaline at high tide.

(“I don’t care about that part,” Wonwoo says. “What I want to know is why you went without backup.”)

Reverie had been there, as Seungcheol half expected. He wasn’t the most dangerous villain in the city, but he was certainly the cleverest. Seungcheol has been defeated by him more times than he can count.

(“Do you know what he was there for?” the police officer asks.)

There’s no way of knowing what Reverie was after. They won’t know any details until they can ask the bank representative and even then, there’s no guarantee the bank will be helpful. All Seungcheol knows is that it was important enough to Reverie for him and his sidekick to hold up an entire building in broad daylight. Thankfully, no one had been killed, but hardly anyone at the scene had escaped unscathed. One of the tellers is going to be in the hospital for months.

(“Are you going to be ok?” Hansol asks, one hand pressed to Seungcheol’s ribs. Under his fingers, Seungcheol’s body stitches itself back together. Time reverses itself, his bones grow young again. Hansol will go on to heal up who he can after this, but it won’t be enough. It won’t be easy either, and Seungcheol will have to walk him home to make sure he doesn’t pass out.)

The sidekick had broken into the vault while Reverie kept Seungcheol busy, each blow sending him across the room. Seungcheol kept trying though. Got up each time and launched himself back into another blow. He got knocked down each time. 

That’s what he’s good at. Taking hits. 

(“Do you know where he’ll strike next? What promises can you give that this won’t happen again?” The journalist smiles, not so much a grin as a baring of teeth.)

The truth is, Seungcheol is not well matched to fight a villain like Reverie, whose powers are nightmarish in the most literal sense. Without backup, he was less than useless. But he went anyway. 

That’s the hardest part to explain. But there’s a dream—

  
  
  


After he sends Hansol home, Seungcheol heads back to his own apartment. He’s off duty for three days thanks to that injury, even if Hansol had healed it up. In Wonwoo’s words, he needs “time to sit down and rest for once before you get thrown through another wall. If I see you back here before Friday Choi, I’m revoking your hero license and knocking you out myself.”

Seungcheol had known better than to argue.

So here he is, standing in the doorway of his apartment, looking at his empty living room, watching dust fall through the afternoon light. “I’m home,” he says. Force of habit, even if no one answers. 

He steps in and hangs up his jacket. It’s so quiet he can’t hear himself think. 

There's a pile of unread mail sitting next to the door and a thin layer of dust on every flat surface. He's pretty sure his neighbors think he's permanently traveling for work, or otherwise out of the city.

Seungcheol is awful at living alone, but it would be even worse to get a roommate. He hasn’t lived with anyone since— 

Since Jeonghan, which is synonymous with since he last lived in a home. Since Jeonghan last made a mess of the kitchen trying to surprise him with dinner; since Seungcheol last had an excuse to throw all the windows open and let the light blow through. This place is four walls and a leaky window, a fridge that’s been half empty for weeks, and no one to keep the lights on. Seungcheol feels the difference like a wound.

When they had lived together, Jeonghan stepped into his habits like he did every room, like he belonged there. His love was slyly generous, blooming at the edges of Seungcheol’s awareness. Little things. Jeonghan always remembered to buy cereal when he was out. He was the one who did their taxes because Seungcheol could never make the numbers work, glasses falling down the bridge of his nose. Together they kept their home neat if not spotless, devotion to the task saying more than he could bear out loud. _Here is our life together, here is the work I do with you._

He’s not quite ready to have someone else fill those spaces.

Dinner is naengmyeon from the restaurant down the street, eaten while watching the news. Dino, the latest hero to join their organization is doing an interview, smoke still staining the edges of his costume. Seungcheol makes a note to talk to him about more media training. He’s getting eaten alive.

He’s about to turn off the TV and head to bed when the interview turns more serious. 

“Considering your organization’s growing disarray, what do you think should be done about the recent boom of supervillain activity here in the city?” The journalist asking the question is wearing all white, teeth bared. Seungcheol’s pretty sure it’s the same one who tried to get a statement out of him earlier that afternoon. 

_Deflect,_ he urges Dino. And to his credit, Dino tries. “I don’t think that’s something I can comment on right now,” he says. Seungcheol’s fingers knot. The sun had set some time ago, leaving his living room lit only by the TV screen. Light blurs, curves in tired angles. Seungcheol blinks hard.

“Can’t, or won’t?” the journalist asks. “People are being injured every day. They’re being seriously hurt. What are you doing to keep the city safe?”

“Everything we can,” Dino says. 

Seungcheol turns off the news before he hears the reporter’s reply.

 _Everything we can,_ is another way to say _not enough._

  
  
  


Sleep comes to him fitfully that night, dancing just out of reach. He waits. He falls. He dreams.

  
  
  


It is summer when Seungcheol suggests they move in together. There's sunlight where his fear should be and sweet wine on his tongue. Jeonghan is radiant in this season, in all seasons, hair curling around his lovely eyes.

He says yes.

Seokmin is the only one to show up to help them move in, an exercise in laughter and muffled swearing, when Seungcheol drops their couch on his foot. 

Later, they all eat takeout on the living room floor, boxes strewn about because they’re too lazy to dig out the dinnerware. They see Seokmin off with smiles and Jeonghan kisses his cheek in thanks. 

Later still, they take shots of soju in the evening light, gold and amber and wheat streaming in through the windows. Seungcheol is laughing laughing laughing at nothing at all, at the world, cupped in the palm of his hand. 

The world looks up, blinks slowly. “What are you laughing about?”

“Nothing,” Seungcheol says. Delight tastes like alcohol on Jeonghan’s lips as he leans in, kisses him as well as he knows how. It’s sloppy with joy, with the fizzing edge of soju in his blood. 

Jeonghan laughs at him even as they kiss, sound singing in his breastbone. Seungcheol can feel it in the hand he slides down his chest, fingers splayed. Catching the warmth that lingers there, rolling over so he can slide a leg between Jeonghan’s. 

There’s promise in it, an urgency that comes not from a lack of time, but from an abundance. _Yes, him,_ Seungcheol thinks to himself, leaning down a little further to kiss Jeonghan again.

Yes, forever.

“Such a brute,” Jeonghan laughs at him as Seungcheol accidentally tugs at his hair, no matter that they both know he likes it. He’s undone against the cream of their new carpets. The sun was put in the sky just to illuminate the curve of his cheek. 

Seungcheol kisses him again to count his blessings. One, two, three, and so on and so on until he’s lost his shirt and Jeonghan is straddling his hips, one thumbs rubbing appreciatively over Seungcheol’s deltoid.

“You’ve been working out,” he says and Seungcheol smiles.

“For the entrance test,” he says, even if Jeonghan already knows. “Got to be strong to save people.”

Jeonghan smiles back. “Going to save me too Hero-ssi?” His hand slides down slowly, inch by heady inch. 

“Any time,” Seungcheol says, even if Jeonghan is more often the one causing trouble than the one who needs saving.

“You’re too easy,” Jeonghan says.

The sun dips lower. Gold bleeds red.

“I can’t help it,” Seungcheol says, but it’s fainter now. The dream is gaining depth like a gravity well, reality so sharp the edges make his head spin. 

“Try harder,” Jeonghan says, except his voice is gaining something too. A branding edge; leaves Seungcheol’s ears smoking. Like a mirage slowly solidifying, a mask forms across his face, and his clothing gains an extra layer of bulletproofing. 

Before Seungcheol can blink, Reverie is sitting on his thighs, hair tied back, hands dangerously close to Seungcheol’s throat. 

“Back here again?” he asks. 

Blood rushes beneath Seungcheol’s skin. The room grows hot and he can hear the thunder of his heart. “I—” he starts. Stops.

The hand Reverie has on his shoulder is solid as stone. Seungcheol weighs his odds of being able to get out from underneath him (narrow, but not impossible) and stares at him. “I can’t help it. Not when it’s you.” He doesn’t attempt to free himself. This is a dream, and Reverie can break nothing that has not already been broken.

“Someday, you’re going to get yourself _killed_.” Reverie thumps his hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder, hard enough that Seungcheol hisses. 

He grabs Reverie’s wrist hard enough that, were they awake, it would bruise. “What do you care? It’s not like you haven’t tried yourself.”

At this, Reverie laughs. It’s a mean sound—bites down through Seungcheol’s skin. “Do you really think I’ve been trying to kill you?” Reverie’s hand darts up, thumb pressed to Seungcheol’s jugular. 

Immediacy: Blood through his temples. Reverie’s fingers, his throat. Lungs tight. 

“What else would you call it?” Seungcheol chokes out.

Reverie presses harder—black spots float by, the world blurs. “If I was trying to kill you, you would be dead,” he says. Just as abruptly as he had pressed down, he lets go.

Seungcheol sucks in a breath so quick he gets dizzy. The weight of Reverie on his hips feels monumental, a remembrance of all the time they’d been like this—every time Reverie had knocked him through a wall, every time he had pinned Seungcheol down.

And times before that too—

There are certain things that they never discuss. How Seungcheol’s apartment had collapsed in on itself and his fiancé spent an entire day in that rubble. How much Seungcheol’s fingers trembled when throwing lilies in the grave. The first time they met: how Reverie’s face split open at the sight of him.

“If you wanted…” Seungcheol trails off. Stops himself. The heart has its own habits, but this is not the man he would have given everything for.

Reverie flinches. It takes a moment for Seungcheol to see that he’s trembling.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Seungcheol asks. He takes his hand off Reverie’s wrist and reaches up up up. With delicate fingers, he pushes aside his mask, until a familiar face is blinking back at him.

“Don’t do that,” Reverie says, but he doesn’t stop him. Doesn’t stop him as Seungcheol unlaces his costume, taking off layers of kevlar and leather until he can press his hand to the birdcage of Reverie’s ribs.

Beneath Seungcheol’s palm, his heart flutters. “When are you coming home?”

Reverie knocks his hand away. “I don’t have a home. Or did you forget?” As if to return the gesture, he lays a hand on Seungcheol’s bare chest, leaning down until their foreheads nearly touch. 

“I’m not the one who wants to forget things,” Seungcheol says. It’s centimeters to Reverie’s mouth. “Why are you doing this? What—”

Reverie cuts him off with a kiss. It’s an angry thing, too many teeth and not enough patience, trembling on the edge of blood. Seungcheol doesn’t try to gentle it. He kisses him as if he could pay back everything he’s ever been given to him, every bruise, every heartbreak, every promise. 

A free hand rises to the back of Reverie’s head to tangle in the hair there. Seungcheol tugs, takes the whole thing down until there’s a curtain of brown around his head and he has a palmful of silk for himself.

Reverie bites at his lower lip in retribution, no matter that they both know he likes it. Seungcheol pulls away only enough to suck a mark into his throat. 

The fantasy of permanence is enough to keep him there, leaving pink and red dotted up and down his throat, one hand still tugging at the hair in his hand. He remembers well how easily this stretch of skin bruises, visible even two days after. Seungcheol sinks his teeth into memory and eases his hand down the leg that kicks out in response.

Their pants come off in stages. Seungcheol nearly elbows him in the face before kicking a leg off to the side. “Brute,” he hears.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol agrees. “What are you going to do about it?”

He gets another kiss in response, maneuvered until Seungcheol is positioned where he wants him, and the other man sinks down with a sigh. 

This too is something he remembers, how they ease together, heat and lightning, every point of contact scouring Seungcheol clean. A searing warmth. Seungcheol pulls him close, despite the burn. Because of the burn.

It is minutes and minutes and no time at all until they fall apart together, the man above Seungcheol shaking, face pressed into the hollow of his throat.

There is no name for the person in his arms. Seungcheol loves him too much to call him Reverie; mourns him too much to call him anything else. 

A breath on his neck. “It’s time to wake up Seungcheollie.”

  
  
  


Seungcheol opens his eyes with the dead on his lips and the memory of bruises up his back. For one moment, with his eyes closed, it doesn't hurt so much.  
  


rev·er·ie - /ˈrev(ə)rē/

noun: a state of being pleasantly lost in one's thoughts; a daydream.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this, I'd love it if you left a kudos/comment!! <3
> 
> I'm on twitter/cc @lavenderim if you'd like to chat!


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